Friday, February 5, 2010

Within this basket there are numbers corresponding to nothing.A hand chooses the number, a voice affixes the digit to a sound. Even within this linguistic nonsense there is order.

Hear my voice, the way each phrase dips in intonation as it ends.The paired sounds are not questions, nor are they commands.I listen, and consult the boxes on the page.

Hear each letter and number that I have called out. Draw youreyes down within each column, and seek the digits that have been announced.Were these columns buildings, they would be five storieshigh, each with transparent windows.

Do not speak, nor ask questions. Your task is to listen, to observeyour card watchfully.All language is a code. There is a pattern waiting to be uncovered.The numbers want to be played with, to dance.

Transcribe what you hear. Let your card bloom, piece by piece.Colored circles appear on my card, like bubbles summoned in boiling water by the heat from beneath.

Trust that your lines will become complete, one line, at least.Strong is the voice that will ring out amongst us,strong in the mouth, strong in the throat.